The night was brisk and the moon loomed above, lighting my path to the old house. It had been years since I’ve been here but the vast property looked exactly the same as when I was young. The trees and shrubs grew wild but the grass always stayed patchy and golden. A perfectly walked trail lead to the wooden house on the hill. As I kept trekking up I could see my breath more and more like I was madly chain smoking the air around me. The one thing that never set right with me, even as a child, was the stillness out here. It was always so quiet, no wildlife to be heard for miles. My brother said it was because our great great grandfather built the house on an Indian burial ground but I know now that he was just being an ass. Still, I never could shake the feeling that something was off here.
“I need to get out of here! You can’t keep me here like this!” I shout till my voice cracks while I beat my fists against the coarse dank dark walls enclosing me. After another scream of desperation, I slam my fists hard once more against my prison and slowly slink down, letting my knuckles drag against the crevices as I fall into a heap on to the floor. As I weep and close my body up in a fetal position, I stare at the backside of my hands and see the bits of torn flesh and trickles of blood pooling into Rorschach like patterns.